Voices Around a Campfire
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #22 Spock returns to Earth and confronts his daughter T'Beth about her behavior. When the interrupted campout at Yosemite is resumed (now including T'Beth and Lauren Fielding) it proves eventful for everyone involved. Might someone at long last "pop the question"?
1. Chapter 1

Lost in thought, Spock lay on his bunk aboard the Enterprise. He did not react when Lauren left her work at his computer and entered the sleeping alcove. As her hand touched his arm he momentarily closed his eyes, shutting out the glaring words on the bedside monitor.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He was not surprised that she sensed his disquiet. "I have received some disturbing news," he said, gesturing toward the view screen, "from both my mother and my aunt on Earth."

Lauren sat on the bunk's edge. They were off-duty and had shed their uniforms in favor of more casual clothing. Lauren's hair hung down her back, golden and wavy. As she eyed the monitor, her eyebrows drew together in a frown.

"It is about T'Beth," Spock told her. The mere mention of his daughter stirred a miasma of emotion—displeasure, embarrassment, but most of all, guilt. The truth was, he had given little thought to T'Beth during the recent mission to Nimbus 3. He had actually been relieved to ship out unexpectedly and miss his daughter's arrival on Earth. In her angry frame of mind she would likely have created an uncomfortable scene at the spaceport.

"Is she in trouble again?" Lauren asked.

Wordlessly Spock tilted the viewer. Lauren read the two messages intently, her expression ranging from shock to concern to puzzlement. "She knifed a schoolmate! But this doesn't make any sense. Your mother makes T'Beth sound like some kind of hoodlum, but your aunt's version is so different—so full of warmth and understanding."

"Perhaps more than the child deserves," Spock remarked. Pushing the viewer aside, he stood and did what he could to center himself in the cool, immutable logic of Vulcan. "It is fortunate that she was not arrested, but T'Beth must learn to control herself, even in difficult circumstances."

"Yes, of course. But if the other girls attacked her…"

"It is unlikely they would have attacked her without some provocation."

Lauren just stared at him.

"Consider this. T'Beth has admitted to smuggling the dagger out of Vulcan. What need has an innocent girl for such a weapon? And remember, she is a convicted vandal."

Lauren sighed. "She's still hurt about the council's sentence. She hasn't talked to you since they locked her up, has she?"

"No." Spock sat down beside her. "Before I last left Vulcan, my father and I had a rather…intense exchange. He voiced certain harsh opinions regarding T'Beth, and I came to her defense. I went so far as to accuse Sarek of letting emotion cloud his judgment—that he was allowing his feelings about Sybok to affect the way he saw T'Beth. For the first time in decades I spoke Sybok's name aloud, even though he was ktorr skann—an outcast. But I believe what I said was true. In T'Beth, my father sees a reincarnation of his elder son—the lawless one, the renegade. I could not accept that judgment. Somehow, I still cannot." Quietly he added, "Perhaps my father's assessment of me was correct. Perhaps I _am_ a fool."

"No." Lauren put her arm around him. "You're not a fool for wanting to believe in T'Beth. A good parent never gives up on his child."

But Spock did not feel like a good parent. His Vulcan upbringing had left him ill equipped to be both father and mother to an unruly half-grown daughter. He did not know what he was going to do about T'Beth. When the Enterprise reached Earth, he would have to confront her. He would have to evaluate the situation for himself and deal with her accordingly. And when it was all over…

Spock turned and looked at Lauren. There was a matter between him and this singular woman that also had to be confronted. He was no longer the uncertain, wounded creature he had been after Genesis and his subsequent captivity among the Klingons. He had shaken off the paralyzing fear and anger. He had resumed his rightful place in life. And now that he had found someone to share that life, he wanted to share everything with her, always—the private moments as well as the public, the mundane as well as the lofty—to spend all their days together and awaken in the night to find her sleeping at his side.

He knew that she wanted the same. There was a powerful yearning between them when they were near like this. She, too, longed for the consummation of a marriage bond. But did she understand all that such a commitment would entail? Not only regarding him, but also his daughter? Those were the questions he had never put to her, a corner of her thoughts he had never dared explore. What would be her response? Spock searched Lauren's eyes and wondered.

oooo

It was another warm, wonderful day free of the ocean fog that clung all too often to the coastal hills. T'Beth was glad school was out for the year. She had spent the morning hiking with Kevin Morrow along the rim of the canyon near her aunt's house. A light breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers as they retraced their way south, shoes scuffling along the path of their earlier explorations. Though they had stopped for a snack only an hour before, the exercise sharpened their youthful appetites.

Pausing, Morrow swung his daypack from his shoulder and rummaged around inside. His dark face scowled as he pulled out the crumbled remains of their last muffin. "Darn! It's all smashed."

T'Beth laughed at him as he licked the crumbs from his less-than-clean fingers. "Come on, we're almost there. You can make it."

As they crested the ridge, the roof of Aunt Doris' rustic house peeked at them through the treetops. T'Beth let out a whoop and ran, Morrow hard on her heels. A couple of minutes later they burst into Doris' yard, flushed and out of breath.

T'Beth froze in her tracks. A strange skimmer was parked beside Morrow's groundcar. She could make out the shape of the Starfleet logo on its side window.

Morrow stopped and stared at her. "What is it? What's the matter?"

T'Beth fought to catch her breath. _No! It couldn't be him! Not yet._ The Enterprise wasn't due in until tomorrow—and even if it had docked early, it wasn't likely the second-in-command could immediately break away, especially one so dedicated as Commander Spock. Everyone was always talking about his wonderful dedication, how his work was so very important, so much more important than the other, more personal aspects of his life.

"T'Beth." Morrow's brown eyes studied her.

Though her heart was hammering, she shrugged. "It's nothing. Come on. Let's go inside."

They entered through the kitchen door. The house was very still. With a sense of foreboding T'Beth poured two glasses of water and handed one to Morrow. Her hand trembled as she drank. _No one's here,_ she told herself. Probably some friend of her aunt had stopped by and they'd gone out together in Doris' groundcar.

Screwing up her courage, she headed into the living room and stopped short, her eyes fixed on the sofa. A man in a Starfleet uniform rose and turned toward her. She had grown since she last saw him, so he did not seem as tall as she remembered. But his demeanor was far more imposing than in the days following fal-tor-pan, when he was struggling to regain himself. His dark, purposeful eyes seemed to penetrate her insides.

Beside her, Morrow let out a little gasp of recognition. "Oh! Hello, sir," he stammered nervously. "It…it's really an honor to meet you." Spock stared the awed youth into silence. Morrow shifted uneasily. Edging back toward the kitchen, he mumbled, "Well, I…I guess I better go now…"

The first wave of shock was subsiding. T'Beth's hands clenched. "No," she loudly declared, looking daggers at her father. "I see no reason for you to leave, Kevin." She had never called Morrow by his first name before, but she needed to throw that bit of familiarity in her father's face. _See? I have a friend. I have a life of my own. I'm doing just fine without you._ "Kevin?"

"I'll call you later," he said, and walked out the door.

T'Beth felt like kicking him, like kicking everyone who had ever let her down, and most of all her father. Choking on unshed tears, she demanded, "Why did you have to do that? Do you have any idea who Kevin is?"

"His father was formerly Chief of Starfleet Operations," Spock said levelly. "Now sit down."

Rage boiled up inside her. "No! I don't have to. I'm never doing anything you say a—"

Striding forward, Spock caught her by the shoulder and unceremoniously shoved her into a chair. The abrupt maneuver left T'Beth temporarily speechless. It had been a long time since she had seen him this angry. Her father loomed over her, waiting for her to get up or say one word, just one insolent word more. She decided against it. In stiff, rebellious silence she watched him reach inside his jacket. He drew out a jade-handled dagger—the very dagger recently confiscated from T'Beth at school. Unhurriedly Spock slid the glittering blade from its sheath, examined it, and settled the weapon back into its protective covering. Then he looked at T'Beth.

Holding up the dagger, he said, "Explain this."

There was a moment of terrible quiet.

"I see," he remarked in an icy tone. "Then I must take your silence as an admission of guilt and punish you accordingly."

T'Beth felt as if a cold hand squeezed her insides. Swallowing hard she said, "What are you going to do, lock me up like the Vulcan council? Solitary confinement? Go ahead, shut me in a closet!"

Coolly returning the knife to his jacket, he walked over to a living room window and gazed out. "I will admit that I am tempted to do exactly that," he said in a voice that suddenly sounded tired. He turned and caught her looking at him. Her face went red. "Initially I thought the sentence meted out by the Vulcan elders was unduly harsh, but I am no longer certain…"

T'Beth's fingers dug into the arms of her chair and she leaped up. "You knew what they would do, but you sent me back to the council anyway! I trusted you and you let them—" Her voice broke. She bit down hard on her lip, but still the tears came, a humiliating flood that wet her burning face. Running to the front door, she slammed it behind her and fled outside.

Halfway up the ridge she stopped and sank down at the base of a big oak tree. The rough bark scraped her as she leaned against it, pressing her fists to her eyes. Why did he always do this to her? Why did she let him? God, she hated the man! It would have been better if she'd never met him, if she'd gone straight to that orphanage on Ildarani after her grandmother died. At least there she could have gone on imagining a father who really loved her.

After a while her tears dried. Stretching out on the grassy slope, she gazed up through the branches of the tree. Birds played among the gray-green leaves. She envied their simple, uncomplicated lives. She envied the wings on which they could fly away on a moment's whim.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke into her daydream. Her stomach went leaden and she covered her eyes with her arm. Higher and higher up the slope he came, until he stopped so near that his dusty boots almost touched her leg.

"Look at me," he demanded, "and listen to what I have to say."

Reluctantly T'Beth moved her arm off her face, but she refused to look at him.

"We _will_ discuss this," he said, standing over her. "Without communication there can be no understanding. Without understanding there can be no trust."

"You broke my trust," she accused in a less than steady voice. "You knew what they would do to me. You _knew_."

"No," he denied. "I did _not_ know."

Rising into a sitting position, she glared at him. "Sarek said you'd studied Vulcan law during your re-education."

"Not in great depth. I was aware of meditative confinement, but only as a rehabilitative measure for full-blooded Vulcans. I did not believe the elders would resort to such a sentence in your case."

"Well," T'Beth said with bitterness, "I guess they figured I'm Vulcan enough. You can't imagine what it was like. Fifty excruciating days in that rotten little cell—it seemed more like fifty years." Catching the skeptical look in her father's eyes, she added, "Oh, I know. I should have been glad my jailers weren't Klingons. I should have just relaxed and enjoyed all the wonderful 'quietude'. You don't get it and you never will. I'm not like you. I'm not Vulcan."

"You _are_ one quarter Vulcan," Spock corrected with his usual maddening precision, " and regardless of your lineage, you did in fact commit a crime. As for the conditions of your confinement, I am truly sorry that you did not find the company more pleasant."

She frowned at him. "Company? What company?"

"Yourself."

T'Beth stared at the ground in resentful silence. At last she said, "I suppose you told Jim all about it."

"The captain does not know," Spock answered, much to her relief. "Nor does he know about this." Reaching into his jacket, he drew out her dagger for the second time. T'Beth found her gaze drawn to the deadly masterpiece of Vulcan jade and steel as he slowly turned it in his hands. She wanted to snatch it away from him. The knife belonged to her.

"Golheni," he identified correctly. He was _always_ correct. "Second Era. How did you acquire this?"

"It was a gift," she replied, "from a friend."

"A fine gift," he said. "Why didn't you show it to your grandparents?"

T'Beth made no reply.

"Could it be that you knew it was wrong to accept such a gift? And knowing this, you nevertheless concealed it aboard the starliner and brought it into your aunt's home, and even to school."

"You already know all the answers," she said, sullen-faced.

"I want to hear them from you."

T'Beth sighed. "Didn't Grandmother tell you? The school decided that it wasn't my fault. I only used the dagger in self-defense."

"Did you not first attack them on an earlier occasion?"

"Not with the knife. They were harassing me—talking about _you_ —saying things. Ugly things. I couldn't stand it." Father seemed so disapproving that T'Beth's anger heated. "I should have known! You wouldn't take my side, even if I were lying dead in the street. I suppose I should have just let them kill me, then maybe you'd be happy!"

Ignoring the outburst, he said, "I understand you have apologized to the Helvan girl and her parents."

She scowled at the memory. "Gram made me. But I don't think it was very fair. Zorlaa's the one who was expelled, not me."

"Consider yourself fortunate that you were not deported. Using that dagger was wrong," he admonished her, "whatever the provocation, no matter how frustrated or angry or ashamed you felt. It is time you learn to take responsibility for your behavior and not blame someone else, or something else—such as an emotion—however valid that emotion might be."

"If you say so," she mumbled, hoping that would be the end of it. What did _he_ know about emotions, anyway?

But it was not end. After a moment her father spoke in a strange, quiet voice. "I am going to tell you something you might find difficult to believe. As a boy, I also experienced the taunts of my peers. I also knew frustration…and anger."

"And let me guess," she put in. "You were the perfect little Vulcan. _You_ never lost control."

He slowly shook his head. "To the contrary. I reacted most violently. I used my fists…or anything else at hand."

T'Beth gaped at him. She could not imagine her proper father so completely out of control. Was it true? Could it be that deep down inside he actually understood some of the dark forces driving her? That once upon a time he, too, had dealt with them?

He went on. "Perhaps it is a flaw we both share…but if I overcame a violent tendency, so can you. It grieves me, T'Beth, to see you constantly retreating into the role of a victim. It is true that you are undisciplined, but you are essentially strong. With effort you can use that inner strength to improve your character. You cannot always control what happens to you—no one can. But you can learn to manage your reaction to it—to respond with intelligence and dignity, and seek help when you need it."

"If you were here," she said, "I might have asked for your help. But you weren't—so I handled it on my own."

"No," Father said, "I cannot accept that. You were not left here alone. You had your grandmother and your aunt. And there were also the school psychologist, the principal, and your instructors."

T'Beth glowered at the dirt. "Okay, it was all my fault. That's what you want me to say, isn't it? I'm sorry. I'll try not to knife anyone again." Drawing up her legs, she folded herself into a tight impenetrable knot. "You haven't even mentioned my grades. I guess it doesn't matter that I made the honor roll. After all, it's only an Earth school—right?"

There was an aching moment of silence, and then Spock said, "I am pleased with your academic performance. It is…unfortunate…that your behavior compels me to punish you."

Her eyes flamed at him. "So now what? A spanking?"

 _That_ made his eyebrow climb and for an uneasy moment she wondered if he was actually considering her suggestion. It was not the first time she had dared him. Then, plainly out of patience, he said, "Is that what the hell you want?"

She felt her face reddening. She had never before heard him use even a mild profanity, and for some reason it embarrassed her. "You know what I really want?" she shot back. "I just want you to go back to your ship and leave me alone."

Spock put the sheathed dagger under his coat and let out a slow breath. "It will please you to know that I am returning to the Enterprise, but only temporarily. I will be back and be assured, you _will_ be punished. For Jim's sake you can go camping at Yosemite, but you are not going anywhere else, nor having any visitors, until I decide what to do about this."

T'Beth jumped to her feet. "You're grounding me? What about Kevin? Can't he come over?"

"No. He cannot." He stopped and considered for a moment. "Tell me. How well do you know that boy?"

"He's my friend," she answered defensively. "Why are you asking? What difference does it make?"

"He is the one," Spock said, "who spoke to the principal on your behalf."

T'Beth was wondering where this might lead when the realization struck. "Oh. I get it. I know what you're thinking."

Spock's expression was guarded.

"Yeah." A short, humorless laugh escaped her. "I've always wondered when you would bring it up. My tainted Sydok blood. You think it's happened, don't you? You think I've bewitched him just like my mother did to you. That maybe Kevin even lied to help get me out of trouble?"

A strange sick look came over her father's face. She could almost see his mind struggling to put all the pieces together. _How could it be? The only one who knew was…McCoy? But McCoy wouldn't tell. No, not the good doctor McCoy._

All at once T'Beth regretted opening her mouth, but it was too late. She had lost her temper and now McCoy would pay. Her chest grew heavy, her throat tightened, but the words still found their way out. "Yeah, I know. I've known about it for years. You think I'm going to be just like her, just like Mother. That's why you don't trust me. That's why you don't even want me around."

The hillside was so still. Why didn't Father say something? Why did he just stand there, staring, as if he had never really seen her before?

"That is not true," he denied, but it seemed to T'Beth that his remark lacked conviction.

She waited for him to say something more, anything more—to rebuke her or continue to defend himself or even defend her mother. Her mind cried, _Can't you see I'm afraid? What does it all mean? Am I really turning into a Sy-jeera?_

Wordlessly he turned away from her and walked back down the slope.

oooo

It was a less than jovial group that set up camp at Yosemite Park. McCoy, the self-appointed cook, still smarted from a recent confrontation with Spock. How dare the Vulcan chide him for telling T'Beth the truth! In McCoy's opinion, it was probably the only thing that had kept Spock's relationship with his daughter going _this_ long—not that Spock had tried very damn hard to be a father. McCoy had at least given them some shred of understanding to build on. At least T'Beth knew why Spock had abandoned her during those early years, that it wasn't so much about her, but because of her grandmother's lies. But this time there'd been no reasoning with the stubborn Vulcan. What had happened to the rapport that had grown between him and Spock since fal-tor-pan? Muttering, McCoy banged the pots and pans as he unpacked by the fire pit. Wasn't this just peachy! The cold shoulder from Spock, and Lord-only-knew what macho scheme Jim was dreaming up to break his fool neck this time.

Lauren could not help noticing that McCoy was out of sorts. Uneasy with the situation, she put down her gear next to Spock's. T'Beth gave her a chilly look and made a show of dumping her pack and sleeping bag on the opposite side of the clearing. Obviously the girl resented her presence, but what was McCoy's problem? Lauren wondered if coming here was such a good idea. But she had missed out on the last trip and been so glad when Spock invited her this time. At least she was sure that _he_ wanted her along.

Kirk was acutely aware of everything going on around him—the glances, the glares, the strange undercurrents of tension that drifted through the campsite. What the hell was it all about? This was supposed to be relaxing and fun. Tossing aside his gear, he raised his arms as if to embrace the warm, pine-scented air and said, "Mm, just smell that! Great to be back, isn't it?"

There was dead silence except for McCoy who at least mumbled something, even if Kirk couldn't quite make it out. He turned to the doctor. "Don't worry, Bones. I'll be a good boy this time. No white water. No falling off mountainsides. In fact…" he bent to rummage through his equipment bag, "I hope you brought a nice big skillet, 'cause I'm going fishing."

T'Beth's face lit up. "Fishing? Can I go, too?"

"Sure. I can get you a license right now." Kirk turned to consult his wrist phone, and then hesitated, his enthusiasm fading a bit. "That is, unless your father isn't comfortable with the idea…"

Whatever Spock thought about impaling living creatures on sharp little hooks, he kept it to himself. Looking only mildly disapproving, he said, "If that is what T'Beth wants, she may go."

T'Beth hurried Kirk to the river before her father could change his mind.

oooo

Spock and Lauren set out together for Ribbon Falls. Even with the occasional assistance of Spock's jet boots, it turned out to be a long trek, but well worth the effort. The view was spectacular from their vantage point near the base of the falls. From a height of 1,612 feet the torrent of water thundered downward in a narrow plume, enveloping them in cool, swirling clouds of mist. For a long time they sat side by side, watching in silence.

At last Lauren said, "I bet there's nothing like this on Vulcan."

"No," Spock replied, "there is not."

Lauren kept her eyes on the falls. "Too bad T'Beth didn't come, but that was nice of you to let her go fishing. I…I only wish she liked me half as much as she likes Jim."

Spock turned and looked at her. She wore a red plaid shirt rolled to the elbows and a faded pair of jeans that perfectly suited her slim figure. Particles of mist clung to her golden hair and long eyelashes. She was so lovely that he could not fathom T'Beth's resentment of her. "I apologize," he said, "for her coldness toward you. Be assured, I will speak to her about it."

She shrugged. "Well, Spock, you have to expect it."

Startled, he said, "I expect civil behavior."

Her lips moved into a crooked smile. "She's jealous, don't you see? I'm stealing your attention—the attention that belongs to her."

Spock disagreed. "To the contrary, Lauren. She does not seem to want any of my attention. She could have come here with me, but she decided against it."

"With _you,_ Spock? No. She chose not to come with _us."_

Spock gazed up at the churning water of the falls. "I don't think it would have made any difference if I were alone. These days our relationship consists only of confrontations."

"Well, at least she's talking again." Lauren scooted closer and put an arm around his waist. The pressure of her body felt very pleasant as she told him, "My grandmother had a saying—'This, too, shall pass'. T'Beth will get older. She'll grow in maturity and understanding. Meanwhile, you just have to do your best with her and live your own life."

Spock inwardly sighed. Since Genesis he had found it necessary to redefine his life and its goals many times over. He knew firsthand the impermanence of physical existence, and the recent death of his brother had driven it home in a painfully fresh way. Of one thing he was unshakably certain. He was no longer satisfied with the solitary life he had lived for so many years. He wanted more.

Lauren's arm tightened around him, and his blood stirred. Now was a favorable moment. After five years, he would voice the carefully prepared words that would change their relationship for all time. The sun was sinking fast behind the mountains, the shadows lengthening. Turning, he looked long and deep into the astonishing beauty of her eyes. The words ached inside him. He opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he kissed her. Then he said, "It is time to go."

oooo

Light danced over the bubbling surface of the Merced River. His eyes on a riffle, Kirk rhythmically flicked his fishing pole back and forth, letting the fly sail out on its line to touch the water again and again. The fishing had been poor—just two small trout for the day's effort—but he had enjoyed himself too much to care. Reeling in his line, he walked downriver to T'Beth. There the girl squatted, picking intently at the tangled mess hanging from her reel.

"Come here," he said.

With a sigh T'Beth set down her rod and joined him at the river's edge. Jim gave her his pole and came up from behind to guide her movements. Strange, how quiet the girl had been today. He wondered if Spock had told her about the death of her uncle, Sybok. Or maybe it was something else. It was rumored at Starbase that there'd been some sort of trouble at T'Beth's school. He didn't know how to bring it up, or even if he should. He didn't want to chance spoiling their day together.

Looking into T'Beth's face, he smiled. She smiled back, her cheek nearly brushing his, her hazel eyes solemn beneath thick lashes. She had grown tall. Every time he saw her, she looked prettier. A day in the outdoors had brought a healthy glow to her complexion. The cool river breeze stirred the dark wisps of hair too short for her braid. Pulling his eyes away, he concentrated on fishing.

"Jim," she said low. "What would you do if you'd said something…some _things_ that probably hurt someone…and maybe you're sorry, but you can't seem to say it because…because the person just keeps making you so mad."

Kirk stepped away and let her cast on her own. "Well…that's a hard one, kiddo. But I suppose you could tell the person exactly how you feel—calmly, like you did just now. And then listen to what they have to say, too. Everyone needs to be heard. Everyone has feelings." At the dubious glance T'Beth gave him, he ventured to add, "Yes—even your father."

T'Beth stopped fishing and faced him, her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'm talking about him?"

Kirk sat down on the grassy bank and gazed out across the river. "Okay, then. We'll pretend it's someone else."

T'Beth dropped the pole on the ground. Reaching down, she ripped up a handful of grass and threw it on him, a hint of mean-spiritedness lurking behind her playful façade. Oh yes, she was angry. At him? Maybe. But Kirk knew it was more than that. Brushing away the grass, he said, "You better mind your manners, young lady."

"Or what?" she challenged.

"Or I'll eat all that trout myself."

She laughed. "All two bites. Those are the puniest fish I've even seen."

"You're just envious because I caught them."

"No," she said seriously. "At least not much. It was fun just trying."

Lying back, Kirk closed his eyes and let the sound of the river lull him. He was very relaxed when something touched his hair. His eyes snapped open. T'Beth was so near that he could feel her breath on his face.

"There's grass," she said innocently, "in your hair."

He sat up and swiped at his hair with his fingers, much to T'Beth's amusement. Plopping down at his feet, she looked at him with a wistful expression.

"Tell me something," she said. "Do you like Lauren Fielding?"

"Well, yes," Kirk answered, wondering where the girl might be headed with this. "Lauren's a nice woman. Why?"

T'Beth hesitated. "Father likes her. It was his idea for her to come camping, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Kirk recalled his own surprise at the Vulcan's request. "I guess they're getting along pretty well these days."

T'Beth toyed with a little rip on the knee of her jeans. "How well? I mean…do you think Father is…do you think he's…"

Kirk felt a ripple of embarrassment. McCoy had mentioned seeing Spock and Lauren in some kind of mental joining, but Kirk was not about to tell his daughter. He said, "You probably know more about their relationship than I do. Spock doesn't talk to me about Lauren. He never has."

"Oh." She frowned. "I don't like the way he looks at her."

Kirk had to laugh. "Yes—the _look._ I think I know what you mean. But T'Beth," he added seriously, "that's between your father and Lauren. It doesn't have anything to do with his feelings for you."

T'Beth made a derisive sound. " _What_ feelings!"

Kirk shook his head. "You know darn well 'what feelings'. You're his daughter—his own flesh and blood. I could tell you what David meant to _me_ —" But he broke off suddenly. This had gotten more serious than he intended. There were tears in T'Beth's eyes.

Abruptly he tore away some grass and tossed it at her. "Payback time!" Her mouth opened wide in astonishment. Her arm swung and dirt pelted him. "Okay," he said, "you're _really_ going to pay for that!"

With a devilish glint Kirk lunged to his feet and chased her up the riverbank, into the trees where they played a game of cat and mouse for a couple of minutes. She was too fast for him, but he knew how to throw an opponent off-guard. Dashing after her, he let out a fake yelp and pretended to stumble. He was bent over, examining his ankle, when T'Beth drifted within reach. The concern on her face changed to shock as his hands closed on her. She screamed and tried to yank free, but the desperate maneuver only threw them both off balance. They tumbled, laughing, to the ground.

"You cheated!" she cried, her face flushed.

"Did not." Kirk tightened his grip and straddled her. "Okay kiddo, you're in for it now!" With his free hand he began to tickle her.

"No!" she protested, giggling and squirming under him.

Suddenly Kirk became very aware of her body touching his. He stopped the tickling and loosened his grip on her arms. His smile faded. As he gazed down at her, she brought up her hands and touched his neck gently. The warmth of her fingers brought an odd shiver, and the air seemed to hum. As if in a dream he found himself drawn closer, closer to a sweet mysterious light shining deep in her eyes. Somehow their lips touched. Lightly, at first, a mere tease of moist velvet. Then their lips met once more and he answered her hungry mouth with a deep, unfatherly kiss.

 _But what the hell was he doing?_ Kirk abruptly pulled back. Moist-eyed, T'Beth stared up at him, the fingers of one hand pressed to her trembling mouth. _My God, what had he done?_ Fighting a whirlwind of emotion, he somehow staggered to his feet, but there was no time to think—to do—to say anything.

A few yards away the brush swayed and McCoy came into view. " _There_ you are," he said with a glower.

Kirk blushed to the roots of his hair, but he forced out a wry smile. "Checking up on me, Bones?"

"Someone better," McCoy grumbled.

T'Beth rose from the ground, mumbled something about going back to camp, and promptly left the scene. Kirk wished he could disappear that easily—wished he could make the whole day disappear—but he had to retrieve his fishing gear from the riverbank. McCoy followed along, ominously silent. _Maybe,_ Kirk hoped, _it was just a guilty imagination making the doctor seem angry and accusing._ Maybe McCoy hadn't really seen anything. After all, Bones had been out of sorts earlier. Maybe he was still in a bad mood.

They were halfway back to camp before McCoy spoke again. "Jim," he said, "you're playing with fire."

The damning flush returned to Kirk's face. Doing his best to collect himself, he gave a little laugh and kept moving. "Bones—what are talking about?"

McCoy shook his head. "She's sixteen, Jim. _Sixteen._ Aside from that, she's Spock's daughter—remember? And you know as well as any of us how vulnerable she must be when it come to…to that sort of thing."

Kirk stopped and shifted his carrying bag to his other shoulder. His eyes narrowed at the doctor. "I'll say it again. What the hell are you talking about?"

McCoy stared at him for a long moment. "Maybe it's not your fault—at least not completely. Jim, there are things about her you don't know."

"Things? What things?'

McCoy went silent.

"Come on," Kirk pressed. "You started it—now finish it."

"Never mind," McCoy said, strangely subdued. "I'm probably wrong. I probably didn't see what I thought I saw. I hope to God I didn't." Turning away, he left Kirk and hurried up the trail.


	2. Chapter 2

Kirk spent a miserable evening and slept little that night. Hour after hour he tossed restlessly in his sleeping bag, listening to the night sounds, listening most of all to his smarting conscience. _How could it have happened? How could he have risked so much just to satisfy some fleeting prurient urge?_ The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became. He may have been able to bluff McCoy, but what if T'Beth went running to her father? And why shouldn't she? His stomach knotted as he recalled an incident that happened when the girl was only eleven. Angry with him, she had threatened to go to Spock with some trumped up sexual allegations. That time he had been innocent. He had been outraged. Well, he wasn't so damn innocent this time, was he? He wished to God that he had never asked T'Beth along on this trip.

Across the campsite, T'Beth stretched and sighed. There was no way she could sleep tonight, with the memory of Jim's kiss so fresh and disturbing. She could still feel the touch of his body, the moist pressure of his mouth exploring hers. So different from Torlath, the way the Klingon had left her sickened and disgusted, feeling dirty. With Jim it was _good_. She had never felt like this about anyone, not even Matt Perlman on Vulcan. How could it have happened so suddenly? What did it mean? Did Jim really love her? Did he really want her? She imagined kissing him again—and then she thought of her father, the way he had looked at her when she was talking about being a Sy-witch. What if it was true? What if Jim had only kissed her because…because, deep down that was what _she_ wanted? Not because of his own feelings, but because of some weird power she held over him? How would she know? How could she ever know? Curled up in her sleeping bag, she wondered.

Doctor McCoy lay on his back, looking up at the tree branches silhouetted against the moon. Just a few weeks ago Jim, Spock, and him had sat around this very campfire, friends. Now they were at each other's throats—and if what he suspected was true, things were sure to get worse. My God, this was certainly a new wrinkle! What the hell had Jim been thinking? Or was T'Beth doing his thinking for him? McCoy couldn't get their guilty faces out of his mind. Oh yes, he knew that look. He had glimpsed Jim leaning over T'Beth and noticed the way she lit out of there. Not hard to figure what they had been up to in those trees. Now he could only hope that he had jolted Jim back to his senses, even if T'Beth _was_ working some weird kind of spell. And as for Spock—Lord help them all if he found out about it, but with any luck he'd be too preoccupied with his own hormones to pay much attention to anyone but his female companion.

Lauren had lain awake for some time when she heard Spock get up. Quietly he put on his shoes and left camp, his footsteps scarcely making a sound on the thick layer of pine needles. Rising up on an elbow, she peered into the night. Minutes crawled by, then half an hour. Finally she rose and setting her flashlight to its lowest setting, went looking for him. The trail he had taken led through thick woods for a quarter mile, then widened into a small open area. She stopped at the edge of the trees and switched off her flashlight. A full moon illuminated the clearing well enough for her to see him, sitting motionless near its center. Whether he was meditating or just gazing at the stars, some interior prompting warned her to respect his privacy. The Vulcan wall was up. Spock had been in and out from behind that wall ever since his brother's death. He had a right to grieve, but she could not help thinking there was something more on his mind than Sybok. _Talk to me,_ her heart cried, but there was only a disquieting silence. She walked back to the camp alone.

Spock looked at the place where Lauren had been standing. Even as she moved away he could sense her need for him, yet he had failed to respond. He did not understand his ambivalence. At Ribbon Falls he had wasted the perfect opportunity to approach her about their future together. He had let his concerns about T'Beth stop him. For the first time in many years Spock found himself wishing for a father's advice. But even if Sarek were sitting here beside him, at this very moment, their relationship would not allow such a personal discussion. He was entirely on his own. Gazing up at the star-swept sky, he let his mind wander.

oooo

It was chilly in the morning. Everyone sat bundled in coats, eating McCoy's pancakes around the campfire. Later, Kirk watched as Spock approached his daughter and invited her on a tour of the giant sequoias.

"Why would I want to look at more trees?" T'Beth said scornfully. Her eyes settled with venom on the slim blonde figure across the camp. "Take her. I'm sure _she'd_ like to go with you."

The Vulcan gave her a severe look and suggested, "If you are so tired of looking at trees, I can return you home—at once."

T'Beth folded her arms across her chest. "I just want to be with Jim, that's all."

Kirk spoke up. "You should go with your father." Spock and T'Beth turned to him, surprise evident on both their faces. Lamely Kirk added, "The sequoias are worth seeing."

"I don't care," T'Beth said. "I'd rather be with you."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Spock turned and walked away. T'Beth's little smirk of triumph made Kirk feel like giving her a good shake. He brusquely gestured toward the river trail and said, "We need to talk."

She followed him a short distance from camp. It was colder here, away from the campfire. Burying his hands in his coat pockets, Kirk faced her. "Look—I'm tired of the way you're acting. You can't go around hurting people all the time. Spend the day with your father, it won't kill you."

"But I don't want to," she said, her semi-Vulcan brows drawn together in a stubborn frown.

Kirk sighed in frustration. "T'Beth. What happened yesterday…at the river—it was a mistake. It was wrong and I take full responsibility. It should never have happened and it won't ever happen again. You have my word."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You're sorry you kissed me."

Kirk felt his resistance slipping away. All at once he was gripped by a distressing urge to take her into his arms and show her how he really felt about that sweet stolen kiss, and about her. "Yes. Yes, I _am_ sorry. T'Beth, listen to me. I don't want to hurt you, but I…I can't… _we_ can't…" He drew a deep breath. "T'Beth, you have to go with your father."

Tears spilled down her face. Setting her jaw, she swallowed hard. "If you don't want me around, just say so—but I'm still not going with _him."_

"Then I guess you're spending the day with Bones."

"Sounds like a wonderful idea!" Abruptly she strode away.

"T'Beth!" he called after her. Stopping in her tracks, she turned, eyes flaming. Kirk steeled himself. "You may not think Spock deserves any prizes as a father, but he certainly deserves better than you give him."

Coolly she asked, "Is this about him—or about us?"

"Both."

Turning her back on him, she said, "Go to hell."

oooo

It was too fine a morning to waste on the illogic of regrets. As Spock hiked beside Lauren, an old Earth adage came to mind: "Every cloud has a silver lining". In this instance, it seemed true. T'Beth's refusal to accompany him meant spending another day alone with Lauren Fielding. Since both of them had already seen the sequoias, they mutually decided to forgo the groves and instead chose an area less frequented by tourists. They spent the morning exploring a particularly thick area of forest. The light that penetrated the dense overgrowth of branches was pale and restful. There was an awesome sense of stillness and seclusion in this part of Yosemite.

Shortly after noon they stopped for lunch. The day had grown warm and humid. Lauren spread a ground cloth and they sat down to eat the simple food they had brought—bread, cheese, fruit. Somewhere far above them a cloud settled over the sun, plunging them into even deeper shadow.

"You've been awfully quiet," Lauren observed. "In fact, you've been quiet for days."

"Yes," Spock said, and fell silent again before admitting, "I have been thinking."

Lauren laughed uneasily. "You're always thinking."

Spock's eyes took in the thickly wooded area. His every sense told him they were alone here—completely alone. Finally he said, "I have been thinking…about you."

Wind sighed through the treetops and birds chattered.

"Oh," Lauren said at last. "Is that what you were doing last night?"

"Yes."

Changing position, she looked into his face. Her blue eyes opened wide with the effort to understand him. "Would I be pleased with these thoughts of yours?"

It was awhile before Spock answered. "I am not sure."

Lauren leaned back against a tree and was silent.

Spock could sense her uneasiness, her confusion. "Lauren," he said gently, "I did not mean to upset you. Your company gives me much pleasure…more even than I can express…"

"But?" She would not even look at him.

"Lauren…" He faltered, painfully aware of his clumsiness in such personal matters. "The bond that has formed between us is stronger than I had initially thought possible. You have a high PSI rating for a human."

"For a human," she repeated dryly. "I see."

Growing frustrated, he shook his head. "I did not intend it to be derogatory, but merely a statement of fact. I want you to understand the nature of our bond." Though Lauren's eyes were on the trees, she was clearly listening. "Vulcans consider this type of connection a trial link only, and use it to test their compatibility before…before committing themselves to a more…binding relationship. After a period of time—traditionally, six months—the link is either severed or formalized."

Lauren met his gaze and her mouth opened. "It's been six months since…" she seemed to color slightly, "since that day at the beach house."

"Yes." The day they first joined their thoughts fully. There was so much he had planned to say, but suddenly none of it seemed appropriate. Once more he thought of his father, like himself, proposing marriage to a human. He wondered if Sarek had experienced this much difficulty. It was enough to make Spock question the logic of his decision—yet he had only to gaze into the blue depths of Lauren's eyes—those eyes that set his heart pounding—to know he must forge ahead.

Spock stood. Clearing his throat, he searched for words that would please a human female. "Lauren—" he began, and then broke off as a noise in the forest distracted him. As he looked toward the scuffling, Lauren turned to see for herself. A small dark creature was nosing through the shadows.

"What is it?" Lauren said under her breath. "A dog?"

That, too, had been Spock's first impression…until he became aware of a second, much larger animal lumbering up behind him. He turned. He heard Lauren suck in her breath as the huge brown beast reared up on its hind legs and let out a roar.

"Watch out!" Lauren cried.

oooo

McCoy gritted his teeth as he preceded T'Beth down a nature trail. Despite her foot-dragging, he could not get far enough ahead to escape the maddening din of her so-called music. Tuned to a regional pop station, it blared the discordant beat and squawk that the kids favored these days, interrupted only by the mindless babble of advertisements. At last, something he could relate to. A weather report. "…and over gorgeous Yosemite Park, you can expect unsettled conditions later this afternoon, with thunderstorms continuing into the evening hours. Sorry, campers. Better head for those tents…"

"Good," T'Beth muttered. "I hope it rains all over them and their—"

McCoy wheeled. "You say something?"

"No," she replied with a sour expression.

McCoy jabbed a finger at her. "Turn that racket off! You're scaring away the wildlife!"

Sullen-faced, she touched a control at her ear and the outward noise subsided. With a sigh of relief, McCoy continued up the trail, binoculars flopping against his chest. _Why is it,_ he wondered, _that I always end up playing father to Spock's child?_ Like telling her the truth about her Sy heritage when Spock should have done the telling. And boy, was the Vulcan sore now. And today T'Beth was downright ornery. He knew for a fact that she enjoyed the outdoors. Yet here she was, acting as if she hated every minute of it. As if, perhaps, there was someone else she would rather be with. Not her father—she'd made _that_ abundantly clear. So guess who?

The trail opened unexpectedly into a meadow surrounded by a pleasant green tangle of berry bushes and vines. _Far enough,_ McCoy decided. It wasn't going to get any prettier than this. Sitting down in the thick grass, he scanned the area with his binoculars. The sheer face of El Capitan towered above the forest, but he avoided looking at it, fearing who he might see clinging to its rocky surface. _Where had Jim gone today? What was he up to?_

"Oh gosh." T'Beth sank down with a bored expression. "Isn't this fun."

Ignoring her, McCoy lay back in the blowing meadow grass, put his hands under his head, and gazed up at the mounding clouds threatening the sun. "Looks like the weatherman's right," he said, pleased at the idea. _Might just have to abort this sorry excuse for a vacation. Send Jim packing back to the Enterprise. Get T'Beth clear away_ _from him for a while._

The more he thought about it, the more he felt sure that T'Beth had been actively involved in whatever happened between those two. Even given Jim's reputation with the ladies, he just could not believe that the captain would willfully lay a hand on Spock's daughter, or any teenage kid for that matter. There _had_ to have been more to it. Some sort of enticement on T'Beth's part.

McCoy turned his attention on the girl. Her eyes were closed, dark hair swaying over her shoulders as she moved to the invisible beat of her headset. Sixteen? Despite her height, she seemed younger to him. Maybe it was because she was thin. Maybe it was because she was acting so childish. But this "child" had seen one helluva lot of life already. More than most people saw—or wanted to see—in an entire lifetime. And as for that Sy blood of hers… _Uh-huh. Best to get her away from Jim. Best to get her clear away._

oooo

Spock's blood raced as he took stock of the fierce-looking beast confronting them. On its hind legs, the shaggy brown creature stood considerably taller than him and was as powerfully built as a LeMatya. Although Spock's re-education on Vulcan had barely touched on Earth species, he knew a bear when he saw one. And this specimen was, he suspected, one of the more dangerous varieties.

"Don't make any sudden moves," he warned Lauren in a low voice. If they ran, the bear might charge after them, but neither could they stay here, trapped between a mother and its cub. Spock doubted that even a Vulcan's strength could withstand those powerful teeth and claws should the female decide to use them. Keeping his eyes on the rearing animal, he held out a hand to Lauren. "Get up—very slowly."

She began to rise. Her icy fingertips locked onto his with a fierce grip, then she was safely at his side. But how long could he guarantee her safety? Out in the forest the young bear let out a plaintive cry. With a growl, its mother dropped down on all fours and shuffled closer to Spock and Lauren, her moist nose working the air.

Spock glanced at the nearest pines. They might be able to climb up the branches and escape—that is, if this particular bear was too heavy to climb after them…

"Look!" Lauren whispered. "I think she smells the food."

"Yes." Spock seized on the new information. "Let's try moving away."

With torturous care they inched backward, only to lose each gain of ground when the beast looked their way and nosed toward them again. Her great eyes rolled and she shook her head in irritation. Suddenly the cub found its path clear and ran to its mother. The she-bear turned and sniffed her cub protectively. Spock used the moment to dodge behind a large tree, pulling Lauren along. Pressing his back to the rough bark, he listened. Lauren's anxious eyes watched him.

"She is not following," he whispered. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, they walked swiftly and quietly through the woods. After a few minutes they came to a clearing.

Lauren broke away. "Run!" she called over her shoulder. "Come on!"

Spock ran. Side by side they fled down the grassy slope, pounding along until they reached a small thicket by a creek. Lauren stopped, out of breath. To Spock's amazement, she began to laugh.

"I do no see anything humorous," he said. "Those bears must have evaded the park's protective fields. It was a dangerous situation."

"But we're _alright_ ," Lauren said, bending down to the creek. Splashing water over her flushed cheeks, she laughed again. "Oh, you should have seen the look on you face…"

Spock walked over to her and pulled her up with both hands. The reproach in his eyes was so intense that her smile disappeared. "I do not know how you can make light of it!" he chided her. "We might have been killed."

Subdued, she said, "I'm sorry, Spock. I guess I was just letting off tension. The fact is, I was scared to death back there. I've already lost you once—I actually stood over your coffin. I don't want to do it again."

Spock held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I do not want to lose you, either. That is what I have been trying to say. Lauren— _aisha_ —I want to join with you in the full bonding of Vulcan marriage. Will you be my wife?"

Lauren's jaw fell. Spock could feel the exploding of her emotions right through his fingertips, but he did not let go. Her eyes began to glow and a slow splendid smile made its way across her face. Then, all at once, her arms were around him, her soft cool mouth seeking his. Spock crushed her close and returned the kiss fully. The fingers of his right hand met her face, loosing the joyous deluge of her thoughts, meeting them head-on, mingling with them, all but drowning in them. He felt strangely intoxicated even as they moved apart and stood searching one another's faces.

"You are certain?" he said.

"Do you doubt me?" she asked, tears brimming.

Spock looked on her with all the force of his affection. "No, Lauren. But I want you to consider your decision carefully. Marriage to a Vulcan is far more binding, mentally and physically, than a union between two humans."

"Spock, I want it. I've wanted it for a long time."

"There is also T'Beth to consider."

"Yes," she said, undaunted.

"I am not sure you realize how…vicious she can be." The admission pained him, for it meant that he was failing as a parent.

"Well then," Lauren said, "I guess I'll just have to deal with that. But nothing she does or says is going to change how I feel about you—about _us._

A sharp gust of wind shook the trees along the creek. Drawing Lauren close, Spock permitted himself to enjoy the moment fully. Despite the difficulties involved, she had consented to be his wife, his consort, his bondmate. She would be his and his alone. The realization brought such a thrill of delight that he actually smiled. Lifting her easily in his arms, he spun her around and kissed her yet again.

oooo

Spock and Lauren returned on the verge of nightfall to find the welcome scent of food cooking, and gloomy faces ringing the fire.

"Well, it's about time," McCoy said tartly. "We were about to call up a search party."

Kirk glared at them. "Why didn't either of you take a phone?"

McCoy turned on Jim and arched his eyebrows. "Why Captain, is there some Starfleet regulation about that? I thought we were out here to 'get away from it all'."

Kirk subsided into a disapproving frown.

"Sorry," Lauren said. "We didn't mean to worry anyone. It took longer than we planned to find an emergency combox."

Glowering, T'Beth impaled a wiener on a long stick and dangled it over the flames. "I thought you were looking at trees."

"We _were_ in the woods," Lauren said, "but then we wanted to report the bears."

"Bears!" McCoy glanced around nervously. "There's not supposed to be any bears in this area."

Spock spoke up. "Do not fear, Doctor. They have already been located and returned to the proper area."

A sudden flash of lightning lit the camp, and the earth trembled with thunder. The wind gusting through the trees sounded like a whole herd of marauding predators.

"Bears or no bears," McCoy muttered, "there's a storm brewing. We'll be lucky to finish dinner before all hell breaks loose."

Almost innocent looking, T'Beth asked, "Father, how close did you two get? To the _bears,_ that is?"

"Dinner first," McCoy cut in, "stories later. Sit down, both of you. Eat."

The doctor studied Spock and Lauren as they ladled beans from the cook pot and settled down by the fire with their plates. Now and then they traded glances and Lauren would break into a self-satisfied little smile that piqued McCoy's curiosity. Clearly they were sharing quite a secret, and McCoy wanted in on it. Finally he said, "Okay, you two—that story of yours must really be good. What happened out there?"

Spock and Lauren set down their forks and exchanged a lingering look. The bear encounter was not uppermost on their minds. In retrospect the near mauling paled in comparison to the reality of their new commitment. Lauren felt as if she would burst with happiness and excitement. As for Spock, he had intended to reveal the news in some subtle, tasteful way that he had not yet determined, but he was proud—and yes, he too was excited that this woman had chosen him, and he no longer cared who knew.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" cried McCoy. "Why all the mystery?"

Spock glanced at T'Beth and saw only bitterness and hostility in her sulky face. In that moment he found that he no longer cared what she thought, either. T'Beth would resent Lauren no matter how carefully he tried to prepare the girl.

"Go ahead," he told Lauren.

Turning to the others, she drew a deep breath. The firelight danced in her eyes as she softly said, "We're getting married."

Silence fell like a curtain. For a moment even the noise of the impending storm seemed to fade.

"What?" McCoy rasped.

This time Spock said it. "Lauren and I are going to be married." He looked at his daughter. T'Beth stared back at him, eyes swimming with angry tears. Then stumbling to her feet, she fled into the darkness of the forest.

Everyone stood.

Grim-faced, Kirk said, "I'll get her."

"Jim," McCoy said pointedly, "do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Yes!" Kirk snapped. "I do." Grabbing a flashlight and tricorder, he headed into the woods.

McCoy turned to Spock and Lauren. "Me and my big mouth," he grumbled. "But you two could have shown a little more tact, you know."

"I'm afraid there was no good way to tell her," Spock said.

McCoy shook his head, exasperated. "And you picked one of the worst."

Lauren flinched at a loud clap of thunder. "It's going to be hard for her. She's made up her mind not to like me."

"I'll wager she doesn't like either of you much right now," McCoy said, "but I suppose she'll get used to the idea. I suppose we all will." Struck by a sudden thought, he said, "Wait a minute. This isn't some kind of joke, is it?"

Spock held out his hand to Lauren, palm up, and looking into his eyes she tenderly touched her fingers to his. McCoy remembered seeing something like that between Spock's parents. This was no joke. McCoy felt a little stab of jealousy that surprised him. He had always been rather fond of Lauren Fielding. What she saw in the unemotional Vulcan was beyond him, but the two did sort of fit together as a couple. _Well,_ he decided, _if this is the way it's going to be, then Spock just better take good care of her._ And he could only hope that in their journey toward marital bliss they would not completely forget about T'Beth.

oooo

It was starting to sprinkle when Kirk reached the river. A sweep of his flashlight found T'Beth poised on the back, shivering. For an instant he feared she might jump into the rushing waters.

"T'Beth!" he called out.

She turned to him, tears running down her face. "What do _you_ want?"

In a moment Kirk was beside her. Lightning streaked from the clouds. A chilly gust of wind made T'Beth shiver harder, but he had nothing to put over her. And he did not think it wise to put his arms around her. "It's a shock," he said, "I know."

"Who are you kidding?" she flared. "You probably knew it all along."

"No. I didn't." The fact was, he hadn't an inkling that things between Spock and Doctor Fielding had reached such a point, or ever could. "This doesn't change anything," he told T'Beth, though he knew it wasn't true. This _would_ change things, alright—lots of things, and not only for T'Beth. "Okay, so it _is_ going to be different from now on. But T'Beth…" he let himself touch her shoulder. "T'Beth, your father still cares about you."

She shoved his hand away. "Oh, right! You don't know what you're talking about!"

Kirk backed off. "Okay, maybe I don't. But I do know that your father's been alone one helluva long time, and maybe you could just try to be happy for him."

" _Alone?"_ she cried. "He's had me, hasn't he? That is, when he's taken the time to notice."

Kirk sighed. "That's not what I meant. Yes, he has you—but a man, a grown man needs the company of—" He stopped, on the verge of acute embarrassment. "Look, I know it's hard for you now, but trust me, it will all work out. You just have to give it a chance."

T'Beth's eyes glittered in the darkness. "I _hate_ him. I hate _both_ of them. I wish I'd never come to Earth."

"You don't belong on Vulcan."

With a catch in her throat she said, "Maybe I don't belong anywhere."

Kirk thought he had never met anyone so maddening…or so desirable. He wanted to hold her so badly that he ached. He had spent the entire day off by himself, and it hadn't done a bit of good. If anything, he new feelings for T'Beth seemed even stronger than the day before. Oh, why hadn't he seen this attraction developing? She was so young, a fragile child beneath that tough exterior she showed the world. He dared not give in to his emotions. "It's not true," he said. "You _do_ belong. Whether you believe it or not, we care about you—all of us."

"No you don't," she choked. "If that were true…you wouldn't have talked to me the way you did this morning. You would have let me be with you."

Feeling drained, Kirk shook his head. "T'Beth, don't you understand? It doesn't matter what I want. It doesn't matter what _you_ want. You're only sixteen. You're Spock's daughter. I have a responsibility—"

With a sob she threw her arms around him and there was no human way he could deny her the solace she so desperately needed. He held her close as she wept against him, her soft dark hair pressed to his cheek. McCoy was right. It had not been such a good idea for him to come after her…and feel these feelings…and think these thoughts. But at least now he knew the hard truth about yesterday's kiss. He knew how easily it could happen again if he didn't watch himself. It was no use trying to continue his vacation here, pretending as it everything was okay. He was glad when the clouds opened up and rain began to pour down in earnest. The trip was over. Taking T'Beth by the hand, he led her back to camp.


End file.
